


tabloid gossip

by jackgyeoms



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Family Drama, Oberyn and Lyanna cause a scandal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:10:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8893675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackgyeoms/pseuds/jackgyeoms
Summary: “Dad…” he dragged out, “Have you seen the news?”Rickard frowned. “Not yet.”To his left, his phone vibrated again, rumbling across the wooden table top.Benjen’s eyebrows knitted together. “And have you heard from Lyanna?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I fell down an Oberyn/Lyanna rabbit hole and inspiration demanded that I write this. Enjoy!
> 
> Unbeta'd so mistakes are all mine

 

**CAUGHT! THE WOLF AND THE VIPER’S SECRET RENDEZVOUS!**

_Oberyn Martell, nicknamed the Viper, is known for his deadly charm and the string of high profile lovers it allows him to have. And it seems, that not even the she-wolf is immune to that particular snake song. Late last night, our sources made contact about this secret snap of the two lovers meeting at Harrenhal._

_This follows hot on the tails of Robert Baratheon and his announced engagement to the young Lyanna Stark. There has been no official comment from Winterfell, the Water Gardens or the Stormlands on this current turn of events._

-

Rickard didn’t answer his phone on Sundays. It was a rule he had. No business on Sundays. His late wife, dear Lyarra, had insisted upon it when they first got married and even after her death, he hadn’t been able to break the habit. Sundays are for family, and nothing else.

So when his phone vibrated the first time that morning, he didn’t bother going to answer it. Nor did he the second time, or the third. By the fourth, he was frowning and the fifth he was concerned.

A knock on his bedroom door, and Benjen was there. He was still dressed in sleep clothes, a shirt with his university emblazoned across and boxer shorts, and his hair was wild, but his eyes were wide and worried. That worried feeling increased.

“Dad…” he dragged out, “Have you seen the news?”

Rickard frowned. “Not yet.”

To his left, his phone vibrated again, rumbling across the wooden table top.

Benjen’s eyebrows knitted together. “And have you heard from Lyanna?”

His thoughts went to this third child, his only daughter, and his gut did that churning thing that it only did as a single father to a reckless daughter. “What’s wrong?”

Rickard’s phone silenced, and Benjen handed over his tablet, with an article up and ready for his consumption. The headline, huge and bold, had him closing his eyes, and needing to count to fifteen.

When he opened them again, Benjen is watching him with worry. Rickard asked, “Did you know about this?”

His two youngest children were always close, partners in crime and he had no doubt that if his daughter had told anyone, she would have told her little brother.

Benjen shook his head, and bit down on his bottom lip. Rickard suspected that he might be lying, but his son’s honesty was the last thing on his mind. Right now, he had to run some damage control.

When his phone rang again, he reached for his phone and glanced at his caller ID. The Stormlands CEO. He didn’t both suppressing a groan. Yes, damage control was of the essence.

“Call your sister. Tell her to get home, and bring the Martell with her.” Rickard ordered, before answering the call, pressing the phone to his ear.

Robert’s voice bellowed down the speakers, and Rickard counted to fifteen again.

-

Often, when it came to his brother, Doran felt something akin to fond anger. Oberyn was his baby brother and he loved him, but the man was hot-headed, reckless, cared little for consequences and hated doing what was expected of him and as a Martell, there was a lot expected of him. A small part of him admired that. The rest of him thought his life would be easier if his brother would just take a moment to think before he reacted.

The television above his desk showed the news anchor retelling the story for the third time. It was big news, even with little more than a photograph to go on, and if anything, that made it worse. He ran a hand absentmindedly over his jaw, and ran through the ways to fix this before it went too far.

Although who was he kidding, it was already too far.

Doran was going to need to talk to Oberyn about responsibility again, and how running off with the Stark girl was hardly that.

Behind him, he heard his office door open and the careful click of heels across his marble floors. The figure stopped at his side, and Doran rolled his eyes up to glance at his sister. Elia was as beautiful as always, even with the frown that marred her features, stood tall and proud and elegant. Her eyes were fixated on the television screen, and her fingers curled over the back of Doran’s chair.

She asked, “have you heard from him?” and Doran shook his head in negative. Elia let out an agitated huff, “What was he thinking?”

“I doubt he was,” Doran pointed out mildly.

The photo was placed on screen once more. It was just as blurry as it was the first time it had been shown, just as much a hidden camera shot; just as much revealing of dark skin against white, lips against lips, Martell against Stark. Every time it appeared, Doran looked at it as if it would give something away but no, the image only revealed what it wanted to reveal.

“Have you heard from him?” Doran asked.

“I’ve tried calling, goes straight to voicemail,” Elia answered.

“I trust you’ve left him a few,” he murmured and they shared a smile. He sighed, leant back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ll need to make a statement to the press. Speak to the board.”

“Speak to the Starks,” Elia added, and Doran hummed his agreement. Although he had never done business with Winterfell, it was fairly well known in their circle who the Starks were. That Rickard, the current CEO was a strategic but fair businessman that inspired loyalty, and his eldest son and CFO, Brandon was something off a wild card. That Eddard was solemn and honest, and Benjen was still a child who was far more interested in practical skills than the business side of his family business. That Lyanna, the only daughter, was as untameable as the wolf that was on the Winterfell logo.

Doran thought she was engaged to the current CEO of the Stormlands. Robert Baratheon. The image was removed from the screen and he decided that must be old news.

“Speak to the Starks,” he echoed. “I’ll make the call. You keep searching for our wayward brother.”

“Why is it always my job to keep an eye on him?” Elia griped, but she agreed, dropped a kiss to her brother’s forehead and left him to his musings.

Eyes still upon the television screen, Doran reached for his phone and requested that his secretary get the number for Rickard Stark. The sooner they made contact, the better.

-

Doran Martell had made contact with Rickard Stark within the hour, and after two, here they were. They had never had the pleasure of collaborating on a project, although Rickard knew that Winterfell had been debating the pros and cons of getting involved in the R&D department at the Water Gardens, but he was well aware of the reputations. Doran, the eldest, who had taken over when his mother died nearly fifteen years ago, and kept the standard of excellence that had been expected by the company and their products. Elia, the woman who married into the political dynasty that was the Targaryen’s and was set to become the Minister’s Wife, should Rhaegar’s campaign prove successful. Oberyn, however, was equally as impressive as he was scandalous – a kendo champion in his youth and the brains behind the Water Gardens filtration system, with a hoard of illegitimate children that followed in step behind him. There were four girls, as far as Rickard could remember, each one worthy of a news story.

By the time, he had received the call, his two eldest at arrived at their childhood home, Brandon already in a blind fury and Ned a figure of quiet concern beside him.

“He seduced her,” Brandon argued, as Ned reminded them that “Lya has never done anything she did not want to.”

Rickard assured his boys that they would sort this, just as he warned them – warned Brandon – to be on their best behaviour. Future prospects of business still lingered in the back of his mind.

They were welcomed into the boardroom of the Water Gardens building with speed and little ceremony. Doran Martell sat at a conference desk, with his sister at his side. He stood to greet them, shook Rickard’s hand with a professional grip. Like business, Rickard noted. Perhaps that makes this easier.

They were gestured into seats, and the Starks obliged, placing themselves as if these were battle lines.

“I wish we could have met under better circumstances,” Doran commented, and Rickard agreed.

“Do you know where they are?” he asked.

“We’re still attempting to make contact,” Elia answered.

“You’re honestly telling me you have no idea where your brother is?” Brandon narrowed his eyes, distrustful, “I find it hard to believe that he never mentioned where they would be going.”

Doran arched one eyebrow, and despite the mask that sat firmly in place, the irritation he felt was obvious to all he saw him. “You mean to tell me that your sister didn’t confined in you?”

The eldest Stark clenched his teeth and rolled his jaw, but didn’t speak. For a moment, it looked as if he were about to lurch across the table and beat an answer he found agreeable out of the Water Gardens CEO. Eddard put his hand on his brother’s shoulder just in case.

“This isn’t helping,” he reminded lowly.

Rickard silently thanked his son for being so level headed when others could not be. It was something that even he in these moments was struggling with. Lyanna would always be his little girl – he looked at her and saw the one-year-old on shaking legs as she learnt to walk; the six-year-old covered in mud and gaps in her teeth; the fourteen-year-old who told him determinately that she wouldn’t wear a dress just because he told her to. He thought to Oberyn and could only remember his age, the scandals and the motherless children that trailed behind him.

Brandon gritted his teeth and stubbornly fought, “You must have some idea.”

“Mr Stark, whilst I love my brother, I am aware of his faults. He is an impulsive man will little concern for the consequences. That’s something I’ve known since he was young,” Doran explained carefully, “From what I understand, your sister is much the same. Now, do you honestly believe they would go anywhere they could be found easily?”

There was wisdom to his words. Rickard reached for his drink, twirled the glass between his fingers. “So we wait.”

“We wait.”

-

The buzz of a phone had Elia up out of her seat, and the eyes of the room upon her, she pressed her phone to her ear. “Hello? Oberyn? Where are you?” A pause, and her expression tightened, “Do not – you must have seen the news. We know that the Stark girl is with you and – yes, front page Oberyn, did you seriously not think – no, of course you didn’t. You don’t think. It doesn’t matter, you need to get here. Both of you.”

“Let me speak to him, I’ll– “Brandon started, and was silenced by a sharp look from his father. He didn’t look pleased, but he obeyed, shoulders hunched and lips pressed into a frown.

“Obe, for the sake of my family and yours, you and Lyanna Stark need to get home. Now.” Another pause, and she sighed, “I love you too,” before she ended the call, and turned back.

“They are at Sunspear. They’ll be here by noon.” She recited, and shared a look with her brother. Doran closed his eyes briefly. Sunspear, he took her to Sunspear. He hoped, like he found himself doing often, that his baby brother knew what he was doing.

“We have time to do damage control,” Rickard mused, eyes on Doran.

The man nodded sharply in agreement. “Organise a press release, something vague with a promise for more details later.”

“It won’t hold them off for long,” Ned stated, rubbed an absentminded pattern into the line of his hand. He did a lot when he was thinking, Rickard knew.

“If we wait too long, we’ll allow the press to make the story themselves,” Elia said, “The only problem is we don’t know what the story is.”

Brandon grumbled, “It seems clear enough.”

“Perhaps, but pictures can be deceiving,” Doran reminded.

Sunspear. Their childhood home and place he had never shared with anyone by family until Lyanna Stark. That meant something. He thought of the photograph and wondered just what it was.

-

They arrived together at ten to twelve, Oberyn’s little snakes with them. Lyanna carried the youngest on her hip, and held the hand of another, but when Doran suggested leaving his nieces under the care of Arthur Dayne, his security detail, she passed the little girls over to their older siblings. She didn’t remove herself from Oberyn’s side, nor did he remove himself from hers.

There was restraint when the boardroom door was open but once it clicked close, there was something akin to an explosion.

“What were you thinking?” Brandon demanded.

Lyanna’s face darkened and she tensed. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, brother.”

“You didn’t mention that you and he- “Brandon pushed, and was interrupted by a sharp, “Again it’s none of your concern.”

“What am I to tell Robert?” Ned wondered.

“Forgive me, but what does that Baratheon bastard have to do with anything?” Oberyn commented.

Lyanna rolled her eyes, and answered, “He believes himself in love with me. Announced his intentions to propose but, like I told him, Ned, I’m not interested.”

A smirk played on Oberyn’s face. “My dear, you never told me that there are contenders for your hand.”

She responded by shoving her elbow into his rib cage, but he merely laughed. Rickard watched the two closely, and pondered exactly what this was.

“You could have been more discreet about it,” Elia pointed out.

“Elia, have I ever been discreet?” Oberyn asked, and his sister gave him a pointed look. He sighed, and his expression schooled into something more serious. “We did not know that we were being watched. If we had known, then perhaps we would have found a more secluded place to show our affections as to not cause you any scandals.”

He didn’t sound very sorry, Rickard noted, even if the words were sincere.

He questioned, “Would you have told us if you hadn’t been caught?”

Lyanna let her gaze land on her father. He stared back, awaiting a response. As a child, she had always maintained eye contact when she thought she was right, never backed down and didn’t now. “Maybe,” she replied honestly, and rolled her lips together to show she would not say anymore.

“You took her to Sunspear,” Doran said, watched his brother.

Oberyn grinned. “I did.”

Rickard felt like he was missing something, considered the way that the two brothers interacted with each other, and wondered whether it would be improper to ask.

“Your girls like her?” he continued.

“What’s not to like?” Oberyn retorted.

“You cannot make things easy for me, can you brother?”

“Keeps you on your toes.”

Lyanna’s hands came to Oberyn’s waist and he pulled her closer, let her fit under his arm. Brandon looked ready to leap across the table to remove that hand by knife point. Ned frowned. Benjen looked unsurprised. Rickard was right, his youngest had known long before anyone else did.

“You know most people would introduce their family to their partner over dinner,” Elia mused, smoothing her dress down her legs under the table.

“I would have, eventually,” Oberyn objected.

“You’ll have to make a statement,” Doran said, and when as Oberyn pulled an expression of discontent, Lyanna answered diplomatically, “We know.”

-

She wore his colours and he wore hers during the press conference. It was something that was advised of them, and whilst Oberyn felt out of place in her greys, he had to admit that Lyanna looked beautiful in his orange.

The press had questions, but they had both agreed that isn’t something they wanted to answer. Nothing more than they were willing to give.

Lyanna spoke for them both, because she was the best speech maker between them. She commanded respect just from the words that she spoke, and at her side, Oberyn could see the way that the vultures of the press quietened to listen to her. She apologises for the lateness of the conference, tells them that whilst yes, she will confirm that she and Oberyn are currently dating – she hated that word, she told him so on their first encounter – and would prefer if the press kept their attention on the business their families ran rather than the relationships they have forged.

“And before anyone asks about Robert Baratheon, there was never an us, or an engagement that I had agreed to,” Lyanna stated, “However,” she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and Oberyn arched an eyebrow questioningly at her, “if I am ever to give up the Stark name, it will be for a sun, not a stag.”

There’s a promise there, a meaning for only them, and Lyanna took his hand to walk him away from their questions. His heart thudding his chest and her hands burning into his flesh, marking him as hers just as the bite he’d left on her breast marked her for him, he bent to whisper hotly into her ear that Lyanna Martell has a nice ring to it.

Lyanna hummed, and when she found a corner, pressed him into it. Her lips linger over his, and when she speaks, they brush temptingly against his own. “About as good as Oberyn Stark.”

He’d never give up his name either, but if he were, he supposed to his she-wolf, it wouldn’t be so bad.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [hit me up on tumblr!](http://gladers.co.vu)   
> 


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